To Love As Well
by The Prodigal Seer
Summary: Co-written with Shigeki11. Recounting the past, the narrator tells the story of the harrowing unification of one Miss Hermione Granger and one Master Severus Snape. DH-compliant, EWE. MLC fic. No lemons.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: This is an amateur non-profit work, and is not intended to infringe upon copyrights held by J.K. Rowling or any other lawful holder.

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><p><strong>To Love As Well <strong>

_**Prologue**_

_by The Prodigal Seer and Shigeki11_

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><p><em>Yet leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free;<br>Love me no more, but love my love of thee.  
>~Algernon Charles Swinburne<em>

It was a clear and crisp spring morning. The birds flew about, gathering material for their nests, flowers had sprung out of the ground, and the little brook in the forest burbled cheerfully as the wind gently swept across the land. Indeed, that spring was welcome. Just as Nature welcomed rebirth, so too did the Wizarding World welcome its new chance at a better life.

Voldemort was dead. His minions were locked away, and the streets of Diagon Alley had begun to feel more like their old selves. People still walked about cautiously, but no longer with wand at the ready as they lived their day-to-day lives. Music could be heard on the wind, as stores began to open their doors once more. Fortescue's was by far the most vibrant, and from the outside, children's joyful laughter could be heard.

All was well, from the outside, at least. But if you listened closely, to the rumbles below the clamour, yes, indeed, you would have cause for concern. And it is here we turn to the three young heroes of this story. A rather unconventional tale, I think, but I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I do…after all, without it, I would not be here to tell it today.

I must add a disclaimer: seeing as this occurred so far in the past, I am not willing to venture that all is true; some may be the product of my creative fancy in order to fill in the gaps where my Pensieve could not. But all together, this is as close as we can get to the union of two perfectly-matched people.

Let us begin!

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Everyone back in the day expected Hermione Granger to become Hermione Granger-Weasley and have lots of red-headed and freckled children (or not, depending on which gene was dominant). Of course, they all say differently now. But then, hindsight is twenty-twenty, so one never really knows as to whether or not that is true. Frankly, that would have been rather disturbing, as Ronald Weasley was – and still is – ill-suited to Hermione. He's rather fond of off-colour jokes, I must say.

I digress.

It really came down to that one April morning, back in the year 2001, before, as my mother termed it, all hell broke loose. The Weasley family, along with Harry Potter and Hermione, were gathered altogether at the table (minus Fred Weasley, of course, God rest his soul), eating their breakfast, and being in general a rambunctious lot. A generally normal morning.

Ronald and Hermione, at this point, were still dating, and had made plans for a walk in the nearby woods that morning. It was obvious how close they were; Ron would squeeze her hand every so often and whisper loving nonsense into her ear. She would blush, and squeeze his hand in return, and leaned ever so subtly closer into him. Those around them exchanged significant looks; his mother looked fondly at the two of them and prayed that they would tie the knot soon. After all, her youngest had become a well-known entrepreneur along with his older brother, and Hermione had already finished her master's degree at a Muggle university as well as her Mastery in Charms. An accomplished feat, if anyone ever bothered to look at her Muggle academic career, which, of course, for the most part, they didn't. As much as the PR department at the Ministry boasted that the end of the Second Voldemort War they had become more Muggle-friendly, it was far from the truth. Muggleborns were treated fairly, perhaps, but Muggles were still viewed as animals with much destructive power but no brains to show for it.

"C'mon, Hermione," Ron tugged gently. "Let's go while it's still nice outside."

Hermione smiled. "What's the big rush? We haven't seen your family in a while now – "

"Forget my family," Ron interrupted. "_I_ haven't seen you in a while. And aren't I more important? They'll be here when you come back, promise."

She smiled.

Excusing themselves with self-conscious grins on their face, they ducked out of the house.

They walked onto the old, beaten dirt pathway, headed towards the woods. Ron had his hands in his pocket while he shuffled along, and Hermione had hers clasped together, only occasionally reaching up to pull the long strands of hair out of her face.

"You know –"

"So – "

Both of them blushed, and glanced away.

"Oh, sod it!" Ron frantically dug into his pocket, reaching out with a little box in his hand. Hermione's hand flew to her mouth. _Could it be…?_

"Hermione Jean Granger…" Ron knelt down in the grass in the little clearing just outside the woods. "I…I love you." His words were hesitant, but his eyes shone with the clearest of blues as he held up the ring in his hand. "I love everything about you, how you love learning and _always_ being right…" He chuckled nervously, then cleared his throat. "Hermione…I want to spend the rest of forever with you, cherishing you…would you do me the honour of being my wife and make me the happiest man in the world?"

Hermione choked.

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Now, it wasn't entirely a _bad _choke, but choke she did all the same. Perhaps because she had some inkling as to what was happening at the Ministry at the very moment, but that is an unlikely explanation, because, as intelligent as Hermione was, she was not a seer – far from it, she tells me with a shudder.

Deep in the Ministry, weeks and months before, the Ministry had been frantically charting the population growth of the Wizarding population. At first the trends were – normal, not increasing, but not decreasing either. In March of that year, though, everything changed. There was a sudden decrease in the levels of magic – so while fertility levels remained high, the number of Squibs had increased drastically, to the consternation of many.

An emergency meeting of the Wizengamot was called.

"Something must be done!" cried one old fart. "We can't keep going like this! At this rate only the muggleborns will have magic! We can't rely on incoming muggleborns to support our entire society! They'll destroy it!"

At this, a collective shudder could be seen all across the hall. And voices began to rise.

"Silence!" The Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, thundered. "We will find a solution." Turning to the presenter, he asked, "Dr. Atkins, where exactly are the Squibs coming from? Is it from the aftermath of Dark Magic? Radiation in water, perhaps? Give us something we can work with, here."

"Yes, Minister," bowed the man politely. "According to the charts…" He flipped through the massive pad of paper. "The Squibs are mainly the products of pureblood relations –"

The Minister interrupted, "And the results of muggleborn-pureblood relations?"

"Then the chances would be significantly lower. The best results come from half-blood and pureblood, muggleborn and half-blood. The half-blood seems to be the key to all of this, but my team and I have not been able to figure out why –"

"Thank you, Dr. Atkins," interjected the Minister, rather rudely. "You may step down and leave."

As soon as the doors had slammed shut, the Wizengamot began talking excitedly again.

"What can we do?"

"What if my grandchildren are Squibs?"

"Our population's dying out!"

"We'll all become _Muggles_!"

The vein in Shacklebolt's temple throbbed visibly. Those near him recognized the danger signs and scurried away, but the general population was not so lucky. Magnifying his voice, they were very nearly deafened.

As soon as they quieted, the gleam in his eyes was back – and to those around him, it was most definitely Not-A-Good-Thing.

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"I-I don't understand," faltered Hermione. "You're saying we can't get married? On what grounds?"

Arthur Weasley had his arm wrapped around a weeping Molly. "The Wizengamot just passed a new law today. I'm taken to the understanding that muggleborns will only be allowed to marry halfbloods, and purebloods with halfbloods. A Marriage Law, so to speak. Kingsley is under the impression that our population is dying off from the alarming increase of Squibs, and frankly, I don't blame him."

Hermione sputtered. "But – but that's illogical! That doesn't even make sense! How on earth are you going to find a halfblood for every pureblood and muggleborn? Where is the sense behind all this nonsense!"

Percy Weasley spoke. "Apparently those muggleborns and purebloods with the best genes will be able to pro-create and mate with a halfblood – these will be assigned by compatibility. Everyone else will be left up to chance…until more halfbloods can be reproduced. A Dr. George Atkins of the Health and Welfare Department was the one who brought up the subject…rather frantically too, might I add."

"Atkins? Atkins is a fraud! Who on earth would listen to him?" Hermione scoffed. "And this whole scheme is ridiculous! How on earth do they come up with such far-fetched ideas?"

"I'm sure Kingsley is doing his best," commented Molly, who was just putting herself back in order. "It must be such a terrible burden, being Minister!"

Arthur shook his head. "We've asked for an exception already, but they won't take no for an answer, not from the two of you."

"Why not!" Ron retorted, angrily jumping to his feet. "We're war heroes. They can't just force us to do what they say, just because they have a whim."

Hermione shook her head. "It's precisely that we're war heroes that we were told ahead of time, isn't that right, Arthur?" she looked towards him for affirmation. "And they'll have some safeguards to prevent the very thing you're suggesting, Ron. Kingsley isn't a stupid man. He needs people to be the role models. And seeing as we're war heroes, as you just mentioned…" she shrugged her shoulders sadly. "We'll be the first ones to be paired off, and damn us if we're unhappy."

She wobbled to her feet. "If you'll excuse me," she said shakily. "I think I need some time alone." As Ron got up to go with her, she shook her head wistfully at him. "Not this time, Ron. Not this time." _Not ever again…_

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><p><strong>Authors' Note: <strong>

Welcome to our first collab and first SSHG! We're incredibly excited to be working together, especially in a pairing that so many prolific authors have ventured in before us. We hope we can do this fic and pairing justice! We will be posting this fic on this account exclusively.

Speaking of which, we are still looking for a beta (or perhaps two, we're not picky). If you are available or even marginally interested, please let us know.

Until next time,

_The Prodigal Seer_ and _Shigeki11_

P.S. Shigeki11 offers her most sincere apologies for neglecting her other fics.

P.P.S. If you are a fan of Severus Snape (why else would you be reading this?), you may want to read Shigeki11's _Fear is the Heart of Love_. It's an exploration of Eileen Prince's life - very interesting, if you ask me (The Prodigal Seer).


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: See prologue.

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><p><strong>To Love As Well<strong>

_**Chapter 1**_

_by The Prodigal Seer and Shigeki11_

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><p><em>I hate the day, because it lendeth light<br>To see all things, but not my love to see.  
>- Edmund Spenser<em>

The wind whistled around her hair, and the air felt slightly damp. Without notice, a single drop of rain fell. Soon, the whole heavens had begun to express their sympathies, and rain poured heavily upon the earth, a rhythmic pounding to those who could hear. Only then did Hermione allow herself to cry.

In the faint distance – within the Pensieve, I could make out a figure making her way towards Hermione; surprisingly, it was Fleur. She sat down next to Hermione on the bench, and began to cast a water-repelling charm, only to be interrupted.

"Stop," Hermione looked beseechingly into the older woman's eyes. "I need this."

Fleur nodded her assent. They sat there silently, listening to the gentle pitter-patter rhythm of heaven's tears.

As the rain slowed and quieted, Fleur spoke. "You know…it's not ze end of the wold?"

Hermione stared blankly at the lake before her.

Fleur sighed. "You and Ronald…vould 'ave been a good couple, maybe."

Hermione looked up. "What?"

"Maybe…t'was not meant to be," shrugged Fleur. "I do not know. But I _do_ know zat, eev you do not come h'out of ze rain, you will catch ze cold."

"What's a cold, when my life is over?" Hermione kicked at a stone on the ground, a gross squelching noise resulting as she stamped harder on it into the mud. "Ron. Just. Proposed. To. Me. And now I can't marry him?"

"And would you 'ave said yes?" questioned Fleur, placing a hand on Hermione's own. "Eez not in my nature to pry, but you would 'ave said yes already when he asked." She took Hermione's empty finger. "Some 'esitancy…no?"

"Well…yes," admitted Hermione, tugging her finger free from Fleur's hold. "I do love him, Fleur, I really do. But it was so sudden! I still have my plans–" She looked struck as her mouth formed those words. "_Had_, I guess, really. And I'm not ready to settle down yet. There's so much to learn, to do! Not that that really matters anymore," she added glumly. "Bottom line, I suppose, is that I don't have any choice in the matter. That I don't _get_ to choose who my own husband is. What if he's awesomely brilliant, but has no way around people? What if I _never fall in love_?"

"Wiz ze man?" Fleur asked, looking thoughtful. "But my mama and papa did…and zere's was an arranged marriage. And even eev you don't, many 'ave mutual respect for each uzzer. You will become…friends."

"I don't want to think about it, Fleur," Hermione replied, not really having heard a word Fleur had spoken. "Could I be alone for a while? I'll be right in in a bit, promise."

"Well…" Fleur glanced towards the house, where many of the Weasley family could be seen peeking through the windows. Giving them a nod, she said to Hermione, "Ok. But I will be by een ten minutes eev you do not come een by zen."

Hermione looked at her for a while, before finally nodding. She couldn't muster the words out of her mouth, but Fleur understood all the same. Within seconds, all that could be heard was the rain again.

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Hermione didn't stay long at the Weasleys'. No one could blame her, really, what with all the pitying looks and the clucking from Molly. But what hurt the most was the relief in Harry and Ginny's eyes. What made them so special? Had the Marriage Law been worded just a wee bit differently, Harry and Ginny would never have been able to have a future together. Just like Hermione and Ron now.

But alas, it was not to be. And so she was off to her parents' house, running to her parents' protective care.

When she entered Diagon Alley, however, all she found were blockades to the outside. Were they preventing people from leaving the Wizarding World?

Her breaths quickened and became shallower. Panicking, she Apparated. But instead of appearing outside her parents' home, she found herself right in front of the blockade.

"Everyone must present identification before leaving the Wizarding World. If you do not have identification, you will be sent to the Ministry to obtain one," the guard announced pompously. "Failure to comply will result in fifty days of hard labour or Azkaban. If you are given leave to visit the Muggle world, you will be given a pass, and fifteen days allowance. This pass must remain on your person at all times. If you do not re-enter the Wizarding World in fifteen days, this pass will portkey you to the Ministry, where you will be reprimanded for your misconduct."

He cleared his throat. "The tolls are now open. Please stay in the line and act in an orderly fashion."

Hermione soon found herself at the toll booth, but her mind was clearly not present. After calling her several times, the person in line behind her nudged her and said, "Miss! You're holding up the line! Please present your identification!"

She shook herself. "…Identification?"

"Your Apparation license will be fine," the guard at the desk grunted. He quickly looked at the card, then back at her. At the card, and then back again. Satisfied, he took out a little pass booklet, and muttered an incantation. Stamping it, he pushed it back at her and yelled, "Next!"

Hermione was through. She wondered why she had been so nervous to begin with. Taking a deep breath, she Apparated.

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Hermione rang the doorbell. Ever since her parents had recovered their memory and had come back from Australia, they had startled easily, and Hermione had since discovered that unlocking the door in the evening would result in the high-tech burglary alarm going off. As she had no plans of learning how to disable it, she contented herself with the doorbell.

"Hermione?" Her mum's voice sounded through the telecom. She sounded a bit bleary. "Is that you, dear?"

"Yes, Mum," replied Hermione.

"Goodness!" Sounds of footsteps rushing down the stairs could be heard, and before Hermione could blink, the door had been thrown wide open and she was enveloped in her mother's arms.

"Don't leave her in the chilly air, Ellen," chided her father. "Let's get you inside, Chuckles."

Hermione blushed. It had been a while since her father had last called her by her childhood nickname. As she stepped into the light, her parents noticed the tear tracks on her face, but wisely decided not to comment.

Her mother went into the kitchen to fix tea and biscuits, and her father pulled her into the sofa with him. Snuggling next to him, she began to cry in earnest.

He wrapped his arms around her, and when her mother walked back in, he motioned her to be quiet.

"Shhh…" her father rubbed soothing circles into her back. "It's all right, Chuckles. Shhhhh…"

"Oh, Da," Hermione sniffed.

Her mother plopped down beside her on the sofa. "What happened, darling?"

"I-I…" She hiccupped. "I'm not allowed to marry Ron!"

Her parents looked at each other in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"T-There's this _dumb_ law…" She hiccupped again as she fought to stay coherent through her sobs. "B-Because I'm a muggleborn!"

"Darling, you'll have to start again," her mother patiently said, as she offered a cup of tea to Hermione.

"T-The n-new l-law s-says…" she struggled for a breath. "T-That o-only a-a h-half-b-blood c-can marry me!"

"And Ronald is a pureblood," her mother deduced. "Oh, dear…"

Hermione nodded shakily. "Y-yes."

"When did they pass this?" Her father asked quietly.

"Just after Ron proposed to me," Hermione replied, and she could feel her father's arms tighten around her.

"I don't even know who I'm going to get married to," she continued, and then blew her nose in the tissue her mother offered her. "I have to go get my compatibility test done in a few days, they said."

"Compatibility test?"

"Where they match me with the person who's most like me, I suppose," Hermione bit at her lower lip nervously. "I don't really know. Or I'll have to find someone who matches the criteria, and is willing to wed me…"

"Well, let's not worry about that tonight," her father said, kissing her forehead. "We'll watch a movie. How does Indy sound?"

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Hermione's father gently tucked her into bed; her mother stood by the door, watching. As soon as they were sure Hermione was asleep, her mother immediately clung to her father.

"I'm so worried, Mark," Ellen looked up, and her husband's arms squeezed tighter around her. "And we can't do anything about it!"

"I know…" he replied. "But we can certainly ask about it. The Weasleys are out of the question, I suppose. Who was that old teacher of hers who came? McGonall?"

"McGonagall, I think," Ellen said. "Here, why don't we look through Hermione's things. We should be able to find something."

Mark glanced sadly at the closed door behind them, and then attempted a reassuring smile at his wife, though his eyes told an entirely different story. "I'll go down to the basement now and bring up the boxes."

The two of them spent the rest of the night, pouring through the boxes in order to find the person they hoped could help their daughter.

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"My gracious goodness!" Minerva McGonagall was casually perusing the Daily Prophet when an owl she had never seen before swooped into her office, plopping a letter into her tea and crashing into various ornaments in her office. She quickly fetched the letter out of her tea, and banished the owl from her office, the window shutting with a loud bang.

She tipped her glasses further up, and her eyes grew wider as she continued reading the letter, all the while, muttering, "Really?...I had no idea…the poor dear…"

Sitting abruptly, she looked around her desk for a spare piece of parchment. _Dear Drs. Granger…_

She smiled. Someone she knew was in the same bundle of trouble too, and with luck, she could manage to get him in her debt. Or so the gleam in her eye indicated to me anyways. She says _now_ that all she wanted to do was a good deed, but knowing my Aunt Minerva, I sincerely doubt it. She can be quite a Slytherin for a Gryffindor, or so the saying goes.

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My mother always told me that being a good person meant that you do your best no matter or regardless what the outcome would be, for the good of the person you were helping, and if you were lucky, a little bit for yourself too. I think Aunt Minerva justified her actions that way too. In any case, Severus Snape was none too happy to see Aunt Minerva's owl zinging in that one spring morning.

I am told that at this point, everyone had thought him dead, of course, except Aunt Minerva, who had hidden him in the faraway land of Canada. In the Greater Toronto Area, Ontario, to be precise, where he had spent the last three years as an English teacher in a local high school. She had also provided falsified documents in order for him to lead a productive life, but Severus thought it rather a stupid attempt at a final revenge. With qualifications only in English and History (those being what he had supposedly majored in), as well as an additional Bachelor of Education, he had no other choice but to try to gain employment as an educator – once again, much to his annoyance.

Also much to his dismay, he was hired with barely a second glance (so much so he suspected Minerva of Confunding the principal of the school), and was to subsequently start the following August. And thus had been his life, for the past three years. The reappearance of an owl, however, suggested that all might change, and change was not something Severus Snape was comfortable with or trusted. Change, to Severus, was a Very-A-Bad-Thing. The presence of the owl suggested that perhaps he should go on the run, as a fugitive (disguised perhaps as a desire for a long vacation should he require this job again), or, at best, a move back to Britain as a free man, when he had finally become comfortable with his surroundings.

Staring balefully at the owl, he set down his cup of tea on the table, and warily pulled at the scroll tied onto the owl's feet.

Ten seconds later, he, still staring at the scroll, was startled out of his wits when another owl barrelled through the window, this one more pompous and arrogant than the last. A Ministry owl, if he had ever seen one. He set down the letter from Minerva, and cautiously took the one from the Ministry owl, careful to inspect the Ministry's letter for tracing spells and hexes. There was always a need for caution, he thought darkly. Always, when it came to the Ministry.

Upon reading the letter, the frown on his face became a scowl, and his face darkened. Disgusted, he thrust the Ministry letter off his desk, and picked up Minerva's again. It was an acceptable suggestion as an answer to the Ministry's demand, he thought, but it was a tiresome one nonetheless, and only marginally better than a – _whatever_.

Rising from his desk, he quickly left his home and made an appointment with his employer. Within hours, he was away from the land of the maple leaf and back in his homeland.

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><p><strong>Authors' Note: <strong>

Hello! Welcome back! We hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks so much to those who have this story on alert; it means a great deal to us. Would it bother anyone immensely if we ask for a few reviews? We are also still missing (a) beta(s) (obviously, since this still reads very rough), and if you have any spare time on your hands, please, please, please volunteer! We would love to have you. Especially if you're a Britpicker as well - two for one package is always appealing ;)

The next chapter (unbeta'd) should be out next week (unless Shigeki11 decides she needs to pack for university).

Cheers, peeps!

_The Prodigal Seer  
>Shigeki11<em>


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: see prologue

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><p><strong>To Love As Well<strong>

_**Chapter 2**_

_by The Prodigal Seer and Shigeki11_

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><p><em>For my part, I know nothing with any certainty...<br>Vincent van Gogh _

"Drs. Granger, Hermione…" Minerva paused, glancing at her clock on the wall. "I can assure you that this man is respectable and honourable. He is also a war hero, which may assuage any concerns that you may have…in fact, he is due any minute now. Coming from Canada, you understand."

"But does he match the criteria that Hermione and he must both meet in order to be married?" asked Mark Granger, his arms crossed defensively. His wife, though her hand was on his arm, could not hide the tremor of fear at the prospect of giving their daughter to someone reprehensible or immoral. Hermione, on the other hand, had gone past the stage of fear and despair; instead, she stared blankly ahead, numb.

Suddenly, steps could be heard, and a low muttering in response to the gargoyle's query for a password. The door swung open.

"Severus!" Minerva stood, and greeted with him a brief embrace. Severus stiffened, but Minerva ignored his reaction. Turning instead to the Grangers, she said, "Dr. and Dr. Granger, this is Master Severus Snape. I believe you have heard of him?"

"Minerva," Severus greeted, his face impassive as always. "Drs. Granger, Miss Granger." He proffered his hand to Hermione's parents, which they grudgingly took. Hermione, on the other hand, gave no indication that she had seen him at all. Nodding stiffly, he took a seat next to Minerva, on the other side of the desk, as if a pile of wood was a suitable barrier between him and the growing frustration and rage he could see on the faces of the two adult Grangers.

He fought the urge to fold his arms. Instead, he – casually – picked up the cup of tea in front of him, but it was clear he did not want to be present in the room.

"Now," Minerva said briskly. "Let's get down to business." She folded her hands in front of her primly, and looked at the Grangers. "Hermione and Severus both have the same problem – and it would be beneficial to have it mutually solved, yes?"

Both the older Grangers looked on sceptically. Give their daughter to her old professor, some twenty years older than her? Who, by their daughter's friends' accounts, had tormented them at school? Or restrict her brilliant mind by being saddled with some idiot who only wanted a housewife?

"No offense," Mark Granger said apologetically, more to Severus than to Minerva, "But is there anyone else?"

Severus's face remained impassive.

Hermione winced, running all the halfbloods she knew, in her year, and the ones above and below her. Most had been taken already – thanks to her parents' harebrained idea to trust her old professor.

As if in confirmation, Minerva shook her head. "I'm afraid there isn't anyone – or anyone else who can match up to Hermione's calibre, I'm afraid." She paused, leaving the unspoken about Severus unsaid. "Especially as she _must_ be matched off. The only person who comes to mind is Severus."

For the first time, Hermione spoke." Forgive me, Headmistress, but isn't the professor presumed dead?"

And then she wondered why she herself was not surprised by the professor's survival. After all, it made little sense that he would succumb to a snake's venom for which he had the cure to – Arthur Weasley's survival being the evidence to this. Or, even as a Potions Master – who would have a bezoar handy to counter poisons, or a number of any potions to heal the wounds Nagini had inflicted upon him.

"Yes," Minerva replied. "Only high ranking officials in the Ministry and myself know the truth. But I surmise that the list was Charmed to send marriage law declarations to all who were alive, despite whatever is common knowledge."

"But wouldn't Professor Snape's name have been crossed off that list?"

"Good heavens, no," Minerva exclaimed. "The book automatically self-updates. Man has no business fiddling with that book – though clearly someone has, by the look of things." She looked thoughtful for a moment, before continuing. "But that is neither here nor there, and there is much else to be considered."

Hermione risked a glance at Severus. She thought he looked rather cold, for someone whose future was uncertain, especially in terms so important.

The two Dr. Grangers exchanged glances. It didn't seem as if their daughter had any choice in the matter, but still – to have this man as their son-in-law? It all seemed too absurd to be real. Then again, this entire other world had seemed a bit ridiculous, from their point of view.

Minerva, meanwhile, was rummaging around in her desk drawers. Once she found what she was looking for, she laid them on her desk. "This is the application for marriage." She gave one to Severus, and the other, to Hermione. "Take it home tonight, and consider it" – this she said mainly to the Grangers – "And if it is acceptable, Floo me and we shall go together to the Ministry tomorrow."

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"Dear," her mother never said 'Dear' – with an emphasis on the first letter – unless there was trouble, "Have you considered – at all – if leaving this world might be the better option?"

Hermione shook her head, almost petulantly, and gave her mother a look (one of those _do you think I hadn't considered that? _looks). "The pass transports me back automatically –" She looked sharply again at her mother, who had opened her mouth to respond, "–and before you say a word, I _have_ thought about disposing it in a waste basket or even in the lake. It makes no difference. Every single bloody time it comes back looking as clean and crisp as it had been before it had been thrown in!"

Her voice had escalated to a yell. Her father, sensing a breakdown, took her in his arms. "Well, this fellow isn't that bad, is he, Chuckles? He is quite a bit younger than your mother and me, and he could look decently if he tidied up a bit…" He trailed off, sensing the building frustration his daughter was trying to contain.

"And you're going to say he certainly looks clever too, aren't you," muttered Hermione. "Well, he is. But clever doesn't make up for a bad temper; nor does it make up for a great deal of animosity we have between us."

"Dear…" There her mother was off with the 'Dear's again. "From the way you've spoken about him in the past, he only seemed to have trouble with Harry."

"Mother, are you really trying to encourage me to marry a man almost twice my age? Because, really, isn't that quite a bit inappropriate?" she taunted, then paled as something close to enlightenment came to her. "Oh, Mum, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that – I mean, I've been so upset – an-and this isn't really your fault at all…" She paused. "I should do it, shouldn't I?"

Her resolve had come back, it seemed, and Mark Granger sighed in relief – inwardly. "Whatever makes you happy, Chuckles."

"And at least I know the man," she mused, not having heard her father. "Why, poor Susan Bones married this halfwit who immigrated to Britain just before the law was issued. And he can be decent, I suppose, in his own strange way. And he does know how to love.

I guess I'll just have to set some ground rules to our marriage, is all. And I know he does have some fondness for rules and orderliness. I suppose it shall be all right." And in that moment, some of her adult resolve slipped, and she became a child again. "Right, Da?"

"Yes, I suppose it will." And Mark Granger pulled her and his wife into a deep embrace. _And if it isn't_, _I will beat the living daylights out of anyone who hurts my little girl, magic or no magic. _

xxxxxxxx

"Miss Granger, Minerva?" Severus scowled. "Really. When you told me you had a solution, she is hardly the answer I assumed you would select."

"Severus," Minerva nocked her glasses up and peered – seemingly – down at him from the other side of her desk. "Who would you have preferred? Diane Carter, perhaps? Or Rita Skeeter – I know she is still looking. Or even Greta Catchlove?"

"I have no objection to Miss Granger, per se," muttered Severus, crossing his arms. "She is just – young. Much too young for the likes of me." The words that the hopes they had for and in her would go to waste if she was to be married to him were left unsaid.

Minerva paused, as if considering his statement, but quickly smiled. "Tell me, Severus, how old are you?" Before he could reply – if he would at all, she said, "A mere forty-one. And Hermione has already entered her twenties. It is not so great a stretch as it would be for Muggles; after all, our lifespans greatly exceed theirs. When you are one hundred and twenty, and she one hundred and one, will this matter at all?"

Severus looked at her in silence. "Look at me, Minerva. Tell me I look my age…and not yours. Tell me I do not look old enough to be her father."

Minerva tsked. "Her father has a good score on you. And yes, it has been hard for you, the last decade or so, but there is no reason for that not to change. Why, these past three years has done wonders to your complexion! I'm sure Poppy will agree with me that you've fleshed out quite a bit."

"Do not change the subject, Minerva," he replied. "The fact remains that I am much too old for this girl." He coughed. "Furthermore, there is no reason for the Ministry to chase after me – I am believed quite and irrevocably dead. And even were it not so, my permanent residency is now in Canada, which, though part of the Dominion, is independent in its own right. By the very papers you have created for me, I am no longer a British citizen, but a Canadian."

"Pish-posh," scoffed Minerva. "Semantics. My, has your time on the North American continent mellowed you? Where is your infamous temper?"

Severus merely stared back, refusing to answer.

Minerva, seeing she could no longer distract him, said, "But still, you remain that poor girl's only salvation. Tell me, do you not think they will marry her to some poor child whose brain capacity is less than hers? Who will forbid her from continuing her education? Who will stifle any new discoveries – and thereby hope for our world?" Her eyes turned fierce for a moment; "No, Severus, you are the only one for her. You know of her potential, and what devastation it will cause us if she no longer has freedom to pursue these things."

"Have you turned into Trelawney, Minerva?" Severus sneered. "Is she Potter to your Albus? What have you to gain in doing this?" He uncrossed his arms. "I refuse to play pawn to you game, Minerva. Once has already been enough; Albus asked me twenty years – you ask me for the rest of my life. My answer is no." He stood. "Now, if you will excuse me, I will be headed back to Canada – I believe I have a class of dunderheads to educate."

"I have no ulterior motive, Severus," replied Minerva softly. "But forgive an old woman's whims to see the union of two of the most brilliant minds of their generations. There is no harm in it, seeing as it is already law anyway. Mark my words, Severus; the Ministry will be coming to you, Canadian or not. And you will regret not stepping forward to help this poor woman in her time of need – because whether or not you know it, it will soon be _your_ time of need."

"Goodbye, Minerva," was all Severus said in reply, and stiffly, at that; then, he was off to the International Portkey Station, where his trip back to his other life awaited him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>Hope you aren't too disappointed with that - we actually sat down in two different settings to write this, and half had already been conceived at the beginning (well, was actually part of the inspiration for this piece). It's also a little shorter than usual, but it was a transitioning chapter, and things should be picking up quite nicely, and the _Adventure _part of the description of the story will begin. And as usual, as you can tell, this is in extremely rough form, so if anyone would be so kind as to volunteer to beta and Britpick, we would love to have you!

Please review, and for those who have placed us on your alerts and favourites, thanks so much! We'd love to hear feedback from you!

The next chapter shall arrive the week of September 4-11; we will both be transitioning into university life next week. Wish us luck!

Cheers,

_the prodigal seer_ and _shigeki11_


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: see prologue

* * *

><p><strong>To Love As Well<strong>

_**Chapter 3**_

_by The Prodigal Seer and Shigeki11_

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><p><em>There is always a secret irritation about a laugh into which we cannot join. <em>

_Agnes Repplier_

"For heaven's sake, Kingsley Shacklebolt, no, I have not seen the man," huffed Minerva. "He's still in Canada."

"You must convince him to come back," replied Shacklebolt. "It is time for him to come back. If he, the consummate Slytherin _and _a hero, can prove that this law can work, people will stop coming to complain."

"…You're _using_ him?" tutted Minerva. "He won't take kindly to being plastered all over the news and those newfangled boards you've got hanging from the sky."

Shacklebolt laughed, that rich, dark laugh that Minerva quite detested; it was his Ministry-laugh, false and pretentious. "No, he will love it. Who doesn't love fame? Severus more than deserves it. We can throw in extra benefits, be sure to tell him that when you talk to him."

"_If_ I talk to him," Minerva rebutted, but Kingsley had already cut the Floo connection. She huffed again for the umpteenth time that morning, and slumped in her chair, uncharacteristically for her normally prim self. "What an insufferable man."

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"Well, Mum, I got my test results back," said Hermione glumly. "I feel like I've failed a test – I swear I've never done this badly at anything in my life!"

Ellen Granger sat down at the dinner table, and took the results Hermione held out. When she saw what Hermione was talking about, she couldn't help but to smile. "Well, dear, let's look at it this way – the only one who's failed is this other person. You're just particularly gifted."

Hermione snorted, and her mother looked on with reproof. Chastened, she quickly said, "Sorry, Mum. But this compatibility test is really quite stupid."

"At least they're making an effort to match you up with someone who is similar to you in hopes that you are happy in your marriage. In any case, there shouldn't be a problem. After all, there is Severus."

Her parents had taken to referring Snape by his first name, in an effort to familiarize themselves with the concept that he would soon be married to their daughter. But all that did was make Hermione feel overly awkward, and she had the urge to plug her ears every time she heard the name.

"Speaking of _him_…"Hermione responded. "Professor McGonagall hasn't replied yet to my owl. She _does_ know the deadline is in a week, right?"

"Maybe you should send another one," her father suggested as he came into the kitchen. Kissing the top of her head, he, too, sat down at the table. "So what's this I hear about a failed test?"

"Just the stupid compatibility test," Hermione said, slouching on the table, to which her mother huffed at. "You know the candidate closest to me is only 26% compatible with me?"

"This fellow's not really bright, is he?" joked her father, as he took the test from her mother. "Oh, isn't this that Irish fellow you went to school with?"

"Yes, Seamus," Hermione replied, making a face. "He's a good enough guy, I suppose, but…he could never really keep up with me."

"Chuckles, remember, Harry and Ronald had a hard time keeping up with you," laughed her father. "Anyways, it doesn't matter; there _is _Severus, after all."

And to that, Hermione could only hold her head in her hands and sigh.

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Severus seethed in anger; how dare they try to bribe him? Was he something to be bought? Was he _someone_ who gave off the impression that he could be bought? He gripped the letter from the Ministry tightly in his hand, and it began to crumple.

But behind the bribes there was a thinly veiled threat. _Come back_, _or we will come for you_. And Severus did not like the second option at all – it sounded faintly of the eradication of his freedom. In any case, his life could not continue to go about as he wished; instead, it would once be disturbed by the machinations of people who deemed themselves overly important.

And yet – yet, this was not the Kingsley Shacklebolt Severus had grown up knowing; rather, the Kingsley he remembered was fair – in any case, the entire affair gave off a rotten smell, and Severus had not felt in this manner since three years past. Something was very wrong with Great Britain, he felt, but, at the same time, he felt that he had no obligation to a country who had, essentially, rejected him; where he had had no future, and where he had not had any hope. For which still he had no hope in, nor hope _for_.

Was fleeing an option?

He had never been one to run, not when the chances of success in fleeing were so low. Though he had no interest in the country, he certainly knew how the Ministry worked. And he was aware that they had already tagged something of his or even _him_ himself, in order to keep track of his whereabouts. No, this was not an option.

Was marrying a woman almost twenty years his junior an option?

He thought; from his vague recollection, he recalled that she was quite brilliant. One of the best of her year, in fact, though that was not surprising, he sneered, seeing as the closest to her in competition was a complete dunderhead. He would not have a sycophantic wife, that he knew for sure.

But he did not know the girl – this he dismissed out of hand almost immediately. This could be remedied. She was young; but Minerva had assured him that she was wise beyond her years. Passable. She was headstrong and outspoken; he did love a good debate, but a pigheaded wife was not ideal.

He had never had a paramour, nor had he ever married – in this, this was a point in her favour. Pessimistically, he thought: _this may be the last chance I have of finding a woman_.

And abruptly, he thought of Lily – guiltily.

_Ah, bugger._

He had forgotten about Lily. The rational part of his mind questioned whether or not Lily was entirely significant if he had not thought of her for so long, but heartstrings tugged just at the mention of her name.

He frowned. _Well,_ _this would be difficult. _

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_Curiosity killed the cat_, or in his case, _Curiosity killed Severus_, he thought morbidly to himself.

His fiancée was looking at him strangely, and he had never felt more like a gift horse in his entire life. He could feel her examining his hair, his teeth, his hands, and, more embarrassingly, his chest and downwards. He resisted the urge to fold his arms and straighten his posture as to bear down imperiously on her.

"Severus!" he startled, and turned to Minerva, who seemed inordinately upset with him.

"What on earth is the matter with you!" She exclaimed. "Here we are, planning your wedding, and you don't even pay attention. How typical of a man."

Gruffly, he replied, "So long as we are bound in matrimony, I don't have any particular preference for the colour of tablecloths or bridesmaids' dresses or the like. You know I have no knowledge – nor do I desire such knowledge – of these things."

Minerva huffed, but did not reprimand him further, for, Hermione spoke up at that moment in his defense. "I'm sure we'll be all right without you. Minerva is enough counsel for me, and it's not as if you're allowed to see the dress anyway until the day of."

"Very well, then," and he swept off his feet, and opened the door. Nodding his head, he exited, but not before acknowledging, "Minerva." He paused. "Miss Granger."

"Really, that man," snorted Minerva, picking up the catalogue again. "And here I thought he would be better than that. I'm sorry, my dear."

Hermione grimaced. "I don't suppose he'll get better?"

"He certainly won't sweep you off your feet," replied Minerva thoughtfully. "But he'll do right by you. And he's certainly better than some of those choices the Ministry has picked out for you."

(Hermione had shown her the list of candidates she had received after completing the compatibility test).

"I don't deny he's an honourable man," stated Hermione. "But I can't help feel a little…_robbed_? And he's never going to give me a second look – Harry's mum was beautiful…and well, I'm…not."

Impulsively, Minerva wrapped her arms around Hermione. "You _are_ beautiful. Besides, I believe half of the attraction Severus had for Lily was for her brains, and you, my dear, were an all-around better student than Lily, and with more credentials than she ever had."

"Only because she _died_," muttered Hermione darkly.

Minerva clucked. "You are at the age she was at when she died, you know. You've helped win a war, you've got your Muggle degrees and your Mastery. She had no interest in the academics, and she never could hold a candle to Severus's loves in academia – Defense and Potions." She smiled, and took Hermione's hands in her own. "No, you, my dear, are a far better match for Severus. After all, Lily was a tad flighty and never really knew what she was looking for. You are confident in your intelligence, and are more than a match for Severus's temper." At Hermione's questioning look, she chuckled. "Oh yes, or did you not think we knew about your various antics at school? And by you, I mean _only _you, and not _you and the boys_."

Hermione blushed. "If you say so, Minerva."

"Oh trust me, older women know things like these – and he will come to love you, once he's accepted that he's betrothed. Men are a little slow, you know," winked Minerva. "And more than not you'll need to feed his ego. Why, just the other day, Kingsley was in here demanding all these things – school-wise, you understand. But you see, all you have to do is give them a little leeway, and you'll get everything else. It'll be all right, my dear. You'll see."

"I hope so." And they turned back to looking at the catalogue, planning out Hermione's wedding for the next week.

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"And you say that Shacklebolt's been badgering you to bring me back?" asked Severus skeptically later on that night when Hermione had retired to bed. "Yes, we were on – friendly, I guess you can say – terms, but not enough of a friend to warrant him demanding you to bring me back. What else did he say?"

"He said, I quote, 'Who doesn't love fame? Severus more than deserves it. We can throw in benefits, be sure to tell him that.'" Severus raised an eyebrow. _Interesting._

"Really, I'm a tad worried," admitted Minerva. "Kingsley's never been one for luring people in with bribes, or threatening people. He stands by the law. I don't like this change."

"It is disturbing, but we should not do anything yet," counseled Severus. "For now, we will go along with his plan. I want to see what the old fox has up his sleeve."

"And are you all right with marrying Hermione?" asked Minerva, concerned. "As much as you have accused me of using the poor girl, you know I'd be concerned if she became caught in these machinations."

"Have no fear, Minerva. I have been, and remain, an honourable man. I will do nothing untoward to her," stated Severus coolly. "I merely thought you were playing me with your threats of marriage – I only realized how serious things had become when I received that second letter from the Ministry." He paused. "Now, tell me, have they published anything of my coming back to England?"

Minerva shook her head. "Not the Daily Prophet or the Quibbler. I daresay the Ministry's kept it all under wraps – but then, the only news coming out these days has to do with the new marriages. I didn't think I'd ever say this, but I am sick and tired of marriage announcements!" Then she looked up, startled. "You don't think that's how they're going to announce it, do you? You and Hermione, front page news…"

"As a distraction," Severus finished grimly. "We must be extra careful to pay attention to what is happening then. Though, I'm not altogether sure that there is something wrong." He paused, and admitted, "I've often been rather uncertain if I'm just paranoid."

"We're all jumpy around the nerves, dear," said Minerva. "We all have been since the war. But, I sense the same amount of foreboding I had when the First Voldemort War was just beginning. But that isn't to say we shouldn't hope – hope that we're just making mountains out of molehills, because, to God, I don't think we could go through another war."

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><p><strong>Author's note: <strong>Apologies for the wait - we haven't had internet for the past couple of weeks! Shigeki11 is also really busy with school and work, but we'll try our best to get the next chapter out.

Let us know how the chapter was - and thanks again for the reviews, alerts, and favourites!

Cheers,

The Prodigal Seer and Shigeki11


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: See prologue.

* * *

><p><strong>To Love As Well<strong>

_**Chapter 4**_

_by The Prodigal Seer and Shigeki11_

* * *

><p><em>My "fear" is my substance, and probably the best part of me.<em>  
><em>- Franz Kafka<em>

It's odd, when you think about it: you have this problem that you have in your head, that, really, you _don't _want to think about. But the more you don't, the more you ponder it, and the longer it stays in your head. This was Hermione's conundrum. As she tossed and turned in her over-sized bed, she couldn't get rid of the thought that a week from the present…she would be married. To her old teacher, no less, and, approving parents, thank God – or maybe not. In fact, her parents were so approving they were overbearing. It was understandable, she supposed, as either she would be married or in prison. Though some would say that marriage was a prison, just of the more common institutional sort – or some drivel like that.

They had spent barely an hour alone with each other. Sure, she knew him; well, as well as any student who knows their teacher. She knew he was intelligent, almost scarily so. She knew his preferred language was sarcasm, and she knew that he was a passionate man, when compelled to feel so. But beyond that, she knew nothing – and knowing nothing going into _dating_ was a problem, but this was _marriage_, which she felt intuitively must be doubly so.

This wasn't to say she hadn't tried to get to know her future husband. No, it was the very opposite. She had tried, time and time again, only to be thwarted by her parents; or if not her parents, then Minerva. And _he _didn't make any effort, like a typical man (she had picked that off of Minerva), perhaps because he was as fearful of being wed as she, and was suffering avoidance syndrome. Any rational person would, she supposed, but at this point, she was too numb to be rational.

She looked at her finger on her left hand; there was no ring. Snape – Severus, she meant – had said that she would get it soon enough on her wedding day and it would do no good for her to stare vacantly at it.

_As if._ She didn't even _do_ vacantly.

But it wasn't as if the ring could do anything, anyway, she thought grudgingly. It was merely a symbol of her being a pawn of the Ministry's manipulations. At least she could rest in the thought that she wasn't the only one; but now, she realized how much Harry had felt like – sort of like a fish in a bowl, having the entire world look in and minding _your_ business. Of course, her life wasn't the only one the Ministry was micro-managing. And that thought was the only thing getting her through this irrational situation at the moment, and the only thing keeping her from pinching herself, wondering if this was real.

She knew it was real, though (it really didn't have to take her walking into a wall to realize it – though that _did_ hurt), and there was nothing she could do to change her current situation. So she was trying to make do, by doing whatever she could around the house, looking at catalogues and simpering and giggling like an airheaded girl.

Her research no longer captivated her attention, though at the back of her head, she knew she would have to return to it eventually. And Snape had said he would allow her – encourage it, even – to continue her studies, be it Muggle or Magical. What some of the other girls would give for that opportunity, she knew – but there was no longer any drive or passion for academia. Perhaps she was still numb. Her parents had said it would probably take a while before reality set in. As it well should, really.

But for now…all she could do was go to sleep. And so with those lingering thoughts in her thought, she turned off the lights and lay awake under her sheets on her too-large bed.

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"How's she doing?" He asked softly in the cover of the night, his ginger hair sticking up in the bright light of the moon.

"As well as someone is when they're marrying a near stranger," Harry replied, thrusting his hands into his pockets as he took a seat on the swing next to Ron's. "Man…Snape. That's gotta be rough."

"Yeah…I know."

They sat silently on the swings for the while, kicking up the sand into the air, like the little boys they longed to be.

Harry broke the silence first. "I mean, not that it isn't rough that you're marrying someone you don't know at all, too."

"I just feel…bad, you know," Ron responded thoughtfully. "I mean, if only I had proposed earlier. If only we hadn't waited. If only I wasn't pureblooded…" He looked down at the ground below him; "We would've been great. She's always wanted two kids, and that was fine by me: Rose and Hugo." He laughed ruefully, and ran his hand through his hair. "And now they'll never exist."

"And Megan's great," Ron continued. "Don't get me wrong, I like her – well, as much as I can tell from two dates. But she isn't smart, like Hermione. Or, anything like her. Man, I miss her, Harry – but I don't know if I can talk to her just yet."

"And that's fair," Harry stated. "You guys are both going through a lot. She understands, I think. Besides, she's trying to get to know Snape – and God knows how hard that is. Just as you're trying to get to know Megan."

It was left unspoken that Harry had tried to contact Severus several times since Kingsley had told him of Severus' survival two or three weeks back. He was, of course, unsuccessful, but it was as he had expected. And besides, he hadn't been quite sure what he was going to say to the man, in any case. It may have been for the better that the two of them hadn't talked.

"I guess so, mate," admitted Ron. "But I'm not sure about this whole thing, in general. You sure Kingsley hasn't gone off his rocker with this one? It sure isn't making him popular."

"I'm not sure of anything, these days," replied Harry, straightening his glasses. "But yeah, it is a bit strange. Kingsley's only got a few more months on his term before election time, yeah?"

"I think so," said Ron doubtfully. "You know I don't pay attention to politics. That's more Hermione's thing."

"Yeah." They sat in contemplative silence, while the wind whistled as it flew around the house. It wouldn't be much longer until this particular conversation would come back to haunt them.

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The next morning, Hermione woke to a stiff headache and the sun blazing in her eyes. She had forgotten to close her curtains the night before. Berating herself, she trudged out of her bed, and into the relative darkness of her washroom.

She looked like _hell_.

Dark rings circled her eyes, and her face was sickly pale. Not even blush or foundation could fix this; she would just stay in her room today. She had – fortunately – brought her books with her, and she could spend the day doing her research. In any case, it wasn't as if there was anyone at the castle actively searching out her company; Minerva was off for her "grand vacation", Dumbledore was perpetually stuck in his office, and her _dear_ fiancé probably didn't even know where her room was.

She had gone to bed optimistic and awoken cynical. _Brilliant_.

There was no helping it; ten past nine and it was already shaping up to be a terrible day. At least it would be one spent alone – _hold that thought_, she thought; at that moment, a knock sounded at the door.

"Who the _f_ – " cursed Hermione as she flew in her pyjamas from the washroom to her door. She paused halfway through her curse as she flung open the door, and startled. "Oh. Professor."

"Oh, indeed," Severus replied, as his eyes swept the room, roaming until they finally met her. And as he looked at her – rather with disdain, she thought – she reddened, thinking of the kitties-on-yarn-balls on her pyjamas. "I…will return when you are properly dressed. This feels oddly inappropriate."

"Yes, _do_," she spat, and slammed the door as he stepped backward, narrowly missing his nose. "Insufferable man."

Oddly, she thought she could hear him chuckling from the other side of the door.

The day had just graduated from terrible to just plain _strange_, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it, after all.

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He was still waiting on the other side of the door when Hermione had finally made herself presentable. As she threw the door open, she could not help but wonder what he was doing there; after all, the persona she had seen thus far had been no different from what he had been like at school. No, there had to be some inner machination going on, something that she with her foolhardiness shaped at school prevented her from seeing. "What do you want?"

"And good morning to you," he replied genially – _The man could do _genial_?_ "Minerva had said you had wanted to speak to me about the upcoming nuptials, but if you have no wish to, I have many other things I can occupy myself with."

Now _that_ was more like it. "No, come in," she said, rather grumpily. "Just take a seat on the sofa."

She herself plopped herself on the other sofa before remembering that good manners dictated that she should probably ask him if he wanted tea or not. "Tea?"

He nodded – she thought he would be sarcastic about her lack of manners, but he did not. _Strange_.

She retrieved her still steaming pot from her room, and poured the both of them cups, before sitting down, and asking bluntly, "Well, what do you want?"

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"In this marriage," she replied. "I'm going to tell you right now that I refuse to be a docile housewife. Or do your laundry. Or your dishes."

"And I refuse to put up with your tantrums," he drawled in reply. "It would be perhaps nice if we could have separate bedrooms, but I'm afraid the law – "

"What!" cried out Hermione indignantly. "They can't do that!"

"Clearly you have not read the entire bill that has been passed," he stated, placing his tea down as his hand shook, but not overly obviously. "Clause 2.43 states that once married, both partners must share one bedroom and have intercourse regularly – though regularly is fairly ambiguous enough."

"How long is this bill?" asked Hermione, appalled, having stopped hearing the rest of what the man across from her had said. "This is insane!"

He shrugged. "Approximately twelve pages. They have tried to make it as detailed and inane as possible, I must admit."

"Inane is _right_," she states adamantly. And then a look of horror appeared on her face; "_Sex_ isrequired?"

His stony face was all she needed to know, and in that moment, she felt herself losing her composure – but not for the reason he thought; rather it was because she would not be able to lose her virginity on her own terms, with a man she loved. And in that time, she had not felt so desperately alone since the law had been passed, even with the close proximity of Snape in front of her, less than two feet away.

"I-I need some time to think about this," she said, her hands trembling. "And I don't think I will see you out, if you don't mind."

And he acquiesced, to her surprise – she didn't even hear him leave.

So it was a terrible day, after all.

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Severus gripped the Daily Prophet in his hands tightly, and, as he did so, he felt the characteristic migraine come upon him whenever he became overly emotional. Taking a breath, he calmed himself, and the vestiges of pain drifted away – but his face remained impassive throughout all of this. He looked down at the paper again – it was hard not to become angry; for, on the front page, was the announcement of his survival, and not simply that, but also of his coming nuptials.

The Ministry was taking all credit for it, which was really nothing new, and nothing less than he had expected, given its constant machinations. It was the assumption that he owed _them_ something irked him to his very core.

He was his own man, and had been, for the past three years.

Though, to be honest, he did enjoy calling people's bluffs; he found great satisfaction when the only response left in them was bluster – for at that point, everyone would know it was simply bull they had spouted.

He took a moment to consider. Was this part of a grand scheme?

He had no choice but to play it out at this moment, he realized. And in the greater scheme of things, waiting probably was the best response. There was nothing urgent about the tingling down his spine, but somehow, that made everything all the ominous.

It was as if he could see the storm from away off, capable of alerting people around him, but unable to do anything else, except to perhaps run the hell away from it. He could wait. After all, he had waited twenty years for his freedom. A few more days of anxious nail-biting (figuratively speaking) was not going to hurt him.

Now, for the more immediate problem at hand: his fiancée.

And that was not a problem he was willing to attempt to resolve on his own. But there was no one he could turn to; no, not a one. And yet, for the sake of his sanity, and for the successful resolution of this game against an unknown puppetmaster…they both had to be in full functioning capacity.

Not that Severus was at all narcissistic, or egotistical.

But rather, something in his gut stirred, and he could bet on that he and Hermione were key to this whole thing being true…if only he could put a finger on it.

However, he couldn't. And Severus had never been a betting man, especially when he didn't even know the odds.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's note<strong>: This is Toby (TPS) speaking - Shigeki11's been in the hospital for the last while, so we haven't really had time to get this chapter out. Our apologies! But now that she's out and we're somewhat assured that she'll be okay, we'll resume our normal posting schedule again (that is, once a week).

Hope everyone had a great Christmas! And Happy Holidays! _The Prodigal Seer_

P.S. If anyone can spot plot holes/grammar&spelling mistakes, please, please let us know. We're still looking for betas!  
>P.P.S. Review away!<p> 


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